To be quite frank, Declan Lockwood, prince of Astroia, was frustrated.

He had been hopeless at finding the old crone again. Nadia was avoiding him. His favourite haberdashery was closed. And to top it all off, his presence was expected at a state banquet that night.

"Go away, Gustav," he shouted from the depths of his closet as a pounding on the door reverberated through the room. He was at the point of no longer caring about whether his father's spy was put up with him or not.

"Actually, it's me," said his cousin. Nolan. Declan sighed."May I enter?"

"If you must." He pulled a green tie from the rack, then rummaged through his pocket watches.

"Thank you." The door clicked shut.

"Gold or silver?" he held up two pocket watches as he emerged from the wardrobe.

"Silver."

"Gold it is." he talked the watch into the pocket of his waistcoat. Declan hadn't spoken to his cousin since they had gotten off the ship. "What did you come here for, cousin?"

"Can't the captain of the Guard converse with the prince?"

"Not without an invitation."

"How rude you are." Nolan studied an oil painting of a ship on fire that hung on the wall. Declan had bought the painting first because his father thought it was bad luck to display art that portrayed terrible disaster. But now, he had come to like the vivid orange flames that obstacle the passengers' faces, not revealing their screams of pain or even sighs of relief.

It was the only obvious show of wealth in his rooms, as it cost two times the amount of a year's harvest. The rest of the chamber with utilitarian: Military corners on the black sheets tucked tightly over a wooden four-poster bed, and brass sconces instead of a chandelier. A black desk made of steel was propped against the wall, almost blending into the dark grey wallpaper. The floors were black granite instead of marble, twice as durable.

"I thought you were aware of my malevolent nature, cousin." Declan laced up his loafers. "Now am I to believe that you don't even know me at all?"

"Knock off the dramatics," Nolan groused, carding a hand through his reddish curls. "I came here to invite you to my wedding. The King has agreed to our union - "

Declan put up a hand. "You must be speaking in jest. First of all, you know I condemn anything of which the king approves. Second of all, I don't even know this girl that is to be your wife. Who is she? You have only known her for a few months!"

Nolan glared, but stood his ground. "Declan, you are so predictable. If the king wanted you to live, you would throw yourself off the roof just to spite him. And as to your second point, about your - Nadia?"

"My Nadia?" he echoed, ignoring his cousin's first jibe. "She is not my anything. Let alone my wife. That is an entirely different matter."

"Your expression when you look at her seems to say otherwise." Love must have had an emboldening effect on his cousin instead of being the soul-sucking anchor that it had been for Declan.

"How do I look at her then?" he demanded.

Nolan groaned. "You really need me to spell this out for you?"

"Yes, say it."

"You look at her like you want to possess her and set her free, break her and put her back together, all at the same time."

"You must be drinking too much, cousin." He raked a comb through his hair before clapping Nolan on the back to hide the tremor in his hands and the expression on his face. His cousin's words had hit him like a sunrise: slow patches of gray fading until the sudden, scalding, blinding light hit him full in the face. "I'll see you at supper?"

He wanted his hat. A good drink. Olivia Delrose. Something familiar and grounding enough that even the pain he felt from it was an old pang, not fresh hurt.

"Of course." Was Nolan's voice filled with smug satisfaction or was that Declan's own imagination?

"And your lovely bride?" he pressed, dropping his hand from his cousin's shoulder.

"Mari will be in attendance as well," Nolan said evenly.

For one sliver of a moment, Declan envied him. He envied him his ease of living, his ability to fall in love with a woman and do as he chose, not crippled by the past or hampered by worries of the future. No matter how carefree Declan made himself out to be, he knew it was all an act. His mind never stopped turning long enough for him to be fully come or present.

but the moment passed, and he would never say any of those things to Nolan anyways.

"You should protect her from the court vipers," Declan said. "Stars know we have snakes in more than the soups."

With that, he swept out of the room, black cloak swirling at his feet.

-

The dinner ought to have been like any other. But Nolan's words, those too-true phrases of poetic nonsense, throbbed in his mind. They turned him inside out. He could barely look at Nadia, who was seated on his right where he sat at the head of the table as an honoured guest. Though she was engaged in lively conversation with her blonde-haired friend, so it hardly seemed to matter.

"A toast!" The king raised his glass. "To my son's safe return home!"

Everyone knew he had been exiled over a decade ago. A few had even questioned whether Declan was a liar, come to claim a crown belonging to a dead man. Yet all of them abandoned their principles and beliefs now to follow the whims of a king whose grasp on life itself was slipping.

He shook his head in disgust before drinking. The whiskey left a sharp burn down his throat. Nadia's friend – what was her name again? Malia?- looked at him like he was an exotic animal. He hadn't been gazed at in that way in a long time.

He couldn't say that he had missed it. Nadia folded her hands in her lap. "Pour me a drink?"

"You dislike wine," he noted.

Mari's--yes, that was her name--blue eyes passed between them, alight with curiosity.

"I wish to try whatever you are having," Nadia rested her chin on her palm, her green eyes wide. Pleading. Some part of him broke. Some part of him awakened from a dormant state.

"Do you really want to drink this century-old whiskey?" He said, circling the lip of the decanter with his finger.

Her eyes followed the movement of his hand. "Please, may I try some? I really, really want to."

His grip on the bottle tightened so hard, he thought it might shatter. As fragile as his self-control. As he leaned over to fill her glass, his mouth brushed her ear. "You look very pretty when you beg."

She slugged the whiskey and glared at him. He laughed but couldn't dispel the desire that coiled in his belly.

Mari seemed to have taken notice of their interactions as well. "Are you two quite close?"

"Close enough," he said vaguely.

Nadia's green eyes were fiery. She licked a bead of whiskey off of her lip, hardly flinching at the taste. "We're friends... Barely."

"Barely?" Marie repeated. "The two of you seem awfully cozy to be... Barely friends."

"So, Mari, tell me what made you think you could stowaway on the ship without consequences? Declan said suddenly, seeing the discomfort on Nadia's face at the turn the conversation had taken.

"It's Captain Hayes's ship, is it not?" she said sweetly. Her blonde hair, fair skin, and blue eyes made her seem like a doll or even an innocent milkmaid. But there was no mistaking the sharpness to her that suggested otherwise. A cat with claws. "He didn't punish me."

"I own that ship," he said. "Did you fall in love with Nolan before or after you found out he was a prince his cousin?"

Marie's blue eyes narrowed. "I dislike your tone, your highness."

"I'm only curious." He shrugged, feeling the tension roll off of Nadia in waves. Good, some bitter part of him thought. I am not your friend, Nadia Sancta. We have both made that abundantly clear.

"Will the two of you stop it?" She said, tucking her hair behind one ear. "You're ruining my appetite, and frankly, Declan, you've been nothing but a bastard."

Marie didn't look interested in shutting her mouth. "I'm curious about something as well, your highness. Did you take Nadia with you before or after you screwed her?"

Nadia's mouth fell open. "He never laid a finger on me."

"He looks at you like he wants a lot more than his fingers-"

"Enough," he snapped. "She hasn't done anything to you."

"And I haven't done anything to you."

He was already feeling the effects of his hot temper and crude mouth. The first course was served. Two to go. At least the King had served real food this time, instead of his healthful victuals.

A roasted half pigeon sat on his plate, brown skin crisp and the meat succulent beneath his teeth. It was going to be a tense supper all the same. Nolan hovered around the room in a red guard uniform with golden epaulets, his eyes always alert. Though he was feasting also, he was distracted by telling the guards what to do. Always a busybody. Mari's eyes followed him around the dining hall. He almost regretted what he had said to her. But he would never regret protecting his family.

Nadia nudged her glass against his, a silent request for more whiskey. "You haven't had enough?" She was slight enough that one glass should have been plenty for her.

Nadia speared into her pigeon, chewing slowly before she answered. "I could say the same of you, considering you just interrogated and attacked my best friend for no good reason."

"Priestess -"

"Whiskey or I use this knife to cut more than the pigeon."

"An empty threat." He added another finger of whiskey to her glass. "You never even took me up on my offer.

"I don't need training to stab you." Her scowl was adorable, like a puppy learning to bat at a ball of yarn.

"Then do it," he said.

"Fine. I will."

He watched her clutch the knife, angling it toward his thigh. Just as the blade came down toward his leg, he seized her wrist and drove it into the chair. It glanced off the leather, not even leaving a scratch. The second course was served and Nadia released herself tried to release her hand from his grasp to let the knife fall back to her plate.

She looked at him like he had betrayed her. Then she took a sip of whiskey, cringing more this time. "That was cheating!"

"How?" He said. "You should have taken me by surprise, priestess. Or you should have drunk me under the table." Her pulse was pounding beneath his fingertips. "The chairs are made to withstand an attack and people use them to protect from snipers. A flimsy little steak knife couldn't have done any damage."

He released her, loosening his fingers and sliding the knife from her clutches.

Nadia stirred the creamy soup, a lobster bisque. "You made a fool out of me."

"You did it yourself when you drank too much," he said, pouring himself more whiskey, too.

"You're a bastard," she said again, lifting a gold spoon to her lips. "And you pick fights for no reason."

I had a reason, he wanted to say. I want you, and it's killing me.

"So I'm a surly bastard," he said. "You knew that about me. Please, tell me some new truths. Spit some fresh invective at me."

Nadia was silent. A wise move, the surest way to bring about his displeasure. He was impressed, as he drank his soup, dipping a baguette into it.

The rest of the supper was fraught until they moved into the ballroom. On the way there, Nadia grabbed Declan's arm, dragging him into an alcove.

"I don't understand you," she hissed. "You make a sideshow out of me, a spectacle out of my power in front of the king, and you bring me here, and you use me, and... what? What do you want from me, Declan? Tell me, so I can give it to you and be rid of you!"

He refused to speak, staring at the burgundy curtains behind her head.

"No snarky replies?" she snapped. "Don't say that you want the same things as your father. Don't you dare tell me that you want to use me too, because we both know that is far from the truth."

"I want to know why your nails down my neck left these golden marks on my skin." His voice was raw. "I want to know why I bit you and we can't be apart now. I want to know why a prophecy told me that you were the key, and I want to know what kind of magic you have so we can both be rid of each other."

"If you find out what magic I have--if you try to dissect me--I will never be rid of you, or your vile father."